


Taste

by zorb



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-05
Updated: 2004-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorb/pseuds/zorb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not saints. Theirs aren't easy jobs; sometimes, they need a certain kind of relief. But how long can they maintain the illusion?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste

If you had told Sam a year ago that she would be having sex with Daniel Jackson, she would have laughed in your face.

If you had told her she would be pinned against his office desk as one half of the hottest fuck of her life, she would have sent you straight to the infirmary for a full examination.

And yet, here she is. Panting and grunting, and with a stray pen digging into the small of her back as he pushes further into her, and she can't breathe with the weight and heat of it and she wants more.

It's not just that they're at work, half in uniform, that makes this so hot – it's that it's Daniel, and the Daniel she used to know would never, _ever_ do something like this with a woman who is very much attached to her boyfriend.

But though it took her a while to realize it, the Daniel that descended is not the Daniel she used to know.

Not that this is a bad thing, she thinks, as their pace becomes frenetic. And she certainly has an equal part in this situation. And then all rational thought escapes her as she bites down on his jacketed shoulder to contain her scream.

With apologies to Madonna, Sam has a taste for danger.

*

Daniel knows he's changed. And he knows they know, and that they know that he knows that they know, et cetera. When he came back, they, the SGC, the politicians – everyone, really - walked on eggshells around him at first before relaxing and smoothly folding him back into their lives. But they know he's different. It's in the way they glance at him when they think he's not watching, and how no one even looks like they want to pat his head now. He doesn't mind, but he mentally notes the differences.

For example, the old Daniel would never be distracted at his own briefing by the way Sam is nibbling the end of her pen. It's not even the symbolism of it all - well, not entirely. No, the way she taps it against smooth lips, tongue occasionally flicking out and catching the end does not distract him with thoughts of what she could do (has done) to certain analogous parts of him. It distracts him because he knows for sure that she didn't use to do that before they started – whatever this is.

It's _his_ nervous habit.

Adopting your partner's quirks is not the sign of a friends-with-benefits, comfort, replacing someone who's away or nonexistent…arrangement.

And that's the thought that distracts him, even as Jack prods him for more detail on "Ol' Ned".

*

In a way, it was always Daniel.

Even when she told herself to give it up and looked at the then-Colonel instead, it was still Daniel beside her; Daniel searching, and mourning, and withdrawing into his own world that still, somehow, made the time for her.

Even when he wasn't there at all, physically, she felt his presence by virtue of his absence. And then he was human again, and they were back to representing the two halves of SGC's think tank, and she was so glad to have her friend back that nothing else occurred to her.

And then she met Pete.

But Pete has his job, and she has hers, and she can call him anytime, but she can only see him on weekends (when she's not off-world, when there's no imminent threat to Earth) or on leave time (when he's not on a case). And they're happy, but sometimes, she needs the comfort of another human, in _that_ way, now now _now_…and he's not there.

Like after her encounter with the Anubis drone at the Alpha site. God, she's exhausted just thinking about it, replaying the day and its aftermath in her mind….

…When Janet- when she is finally released, all she wants is to sleep. Daniel volunteers to drive her home; she nearly passes out in his car, radio turned down low, windows cracked to allow a whiff of sweet, terrestrial night air. He isn't going to stay, just walk her to the door. But she, struck with a clinginess that surprises them both, invites him in instead. _Just for a minute,_ she says. _I need…._

He nods his understanding, settles her on the couch and puts the kettle on for tea. They sit in silence for who knows how long, sipping their tea, side by side…but not together. But then someone sighs, and someone scoots closer, and suddenly, they are Sam and Daniel again, as they haven't been since before his ascension. With his arm around her shoulders, she can finally talk. Talk, talk, and talk some more, until it gets so late that it is morning, and the dawn light creeps across her carpet.

They don't have sex that night.

*

He's making a list. It's not one he'll ever show to people, because it exists only in his mind, filed under "Things to think about when no one is listening."

It's a list of people who would kill him if they knew.

First up is, of course, Pete. Daniel figures he can take him on; Pete may be a cop, but Daniel has been trained by an ex-Black Ops airman.

Who happens to be number two on the list. Daniel may have learned a lot about fighting, but Jack taught him everything he knows. And while Daniel's pretty sure that whatever feelings Jack harbored for Sam once upon a time have faded, the new general is fiercely protective of all of his flock, especially his former team. Membership in that category will not save him.

Teal'c's not far behind. Big, strong, and with a moral compass that you could set your magnetic by. Archaeologist purée.

Then Jacob, who may be aging in Earth years, but whose symbiote keeps him in fine form to royally kick Daniel's ass.

So basically, should anyone find out, he's screwed.

Some days, he wants them to. Some days, he scans the list and says, "Fuck it, I can take them." And he imagines scaling the mountain and shouting it to the world.

But he doesn't.

*

The little things catch her short.

Sam figures the only reason Daniel's old apartment was so clean is that he used it so little. The clothes strewn over her floor she excuses as in the moment – hers are there, too – but the toothpaste tube squeezed in the middle marks his presence, in contrast to her military precision roll at the bottom. His toothbrush lives in a small case in the lower drawer of her nightstand, along with a change of clothes.

Pete brings his own toothpaste.

*

Sometimes, human contact seems foreign to him, in brief flashes of non-recognition, confusion about this alien tactile sense. He supposes it is yet another mysterious remnant from his time away, as he thinks of it. An extended out of body experience making the return to the physical body a whole new journey in itself.

Yet he craves it.

He does not realize the extent of the want until after one of the hardest missions they've ever been on.

Daniel is accustomed to being mourned.

He is not usually the one to watch a friend die.

But one minute Janet is there, doing her job, and the next, she…isn't. He does everything as he should, in the moment, and they all escape the ambush. And the subsequent fallout back on Earth.

When it finally ends – when it _all_ ends – there is no question that Daniel will follow Sam home from the private, family and friends memorial service. SG-1 held their group wake the previous night, after the official service, but a ceremony does not heal such wounds so quickly, and the two of them have quickly fallen back into their old routine of comforting friendship.

Daniel witnessed it, but Janet's death hits Sam the hardest of anyone. She spent hours locked in her lab, sobbing her heart out to no one at all; she hides it well, but he knows.

(He thinks, in retrospect, that she may have taken his years ago reassurance about showing emotion a little too much to heart.)

Back on her couch, no tea this time, just the comfort of human contact, holding and being held. And then, though it seems as if she – both of them, to be fair – should have run dry by now, he spies a tear sneak its way out from the corner of her eye to begin a slow trail down her cheek…

Daniel has a secret, one he still carries to this day. Even – _especially_ – from her. Because it is about her, and about a question asked before he knew who he was. Is. When he could look at her, without the burden of five years' familiarity and history. When he was finally free of knowledge, given the chance wished for by anyone who has ever thought, "What if?"

He spies a tear sneak its way out of her eye…and he tilts his head forward to kiss it gently away.

*

Sam does not realize that her vision is blurring through the wetness, so common a state it has become. She hates crying. No matter what anyone says, it does not become an Air Force Major cum Doctor of Astrophysics. And yet, here she is again, numb to it by now.

She does, however, register his lips on her cheek. The angle he holds her at is such that when she blinks to clear her sight and looks up at him, the first thing she sees are those lips, full and slightly parted in the way that he has.

She suddenly knows what she needs right now, and thinks back to her last weekend with Pete.

But Pete is in Denver.

And Daniel is right here.

They'll never know who moved first, but they are sitting so close that they hardly needed move at all to crush their mouths together with insatiable hunger, to cling at the other's shoulders, hips, legs, and press them against their own. It is about need in so many ways: need for contact, for closeness, for ecstasy and guilt and rebellion against the universe that time and again dares cause them pain.

Need for each other.

Need, she thinks in a brief moment of coherence, to get rid these restraining dress clothes. They'd gone non-military for the second service; Daniel discarded the jacket and tie as soon as he walked in, and her pumps lie somewhere near the front door. She sets to work on his shirt buttons, neatly undoing the whole row, as his hands fumble at the hem of her own button-down silk.

She wonders how long it's been since he last-

The thought cuts off as his lips find that spot behind her ear and his hand covers her breast through her shirt. If it's been awhile, he certainly remembers the fundamentals. She arches into him, snaking one hand between them to deal with his belt buckle, brushing against him as it goes, eliciting a groan. Inducing him to greater enthusiasm and success with her shirt, which soon falls open. He tastes the new wetness of the sweat that trickles between her breasts.

Belt is off, thrown god-knows-where. Bra soon joins it, proving his memory's resilience. What he does with his tongue turns her bones to jelly, and she pulls him down with her to lie on the couch. He shifts, and the friction increases their drive. She undoes his pants with practiced fingers, shoving them down with his underwear as far as she can reach. He does not bother trying to undo her skirt, pushing it up around her waist.

Pantyhose. Fuck.

With a grunt, he slides his fingers into the waistline hem and peels them downward as quickly as he can without tearing anything, catching her panties along the way. She wriggles her hips to help him along, earning another groan as their naked bodies meld together. When she finally can, she kicks the hose unit off and flings her legs around him. He needs no other invitation to slide into her.

And suddenly, they are not Sam and Daniel, but SamandDaniel. They don't stop to take this in; the need is too great. It's a race to the finish, hips thrusting and hands rubbing and lips feeding off of the sheer humanity of one another. And then she's there, and he's there, and they collapse together into the couch. And become Sam and Daniel once more.

In a rare moment for both of them, they don't talk. Instead, he climbs off of her and meticulously hunts down and replaces each item of his clothing – his shoes weren't even off – and, with a casual smile, he leaves.

She should probably have some sort of reaction right now. But the only one she notices is by its absence – tears.

*

Daniel also has a mental list of The Rules of It. (He cannot think of a better name and has settled on It.)

The first rule of It is do not talk about It unless in the midst of It. Cliché because it's true. This is not something either has been tempted to break. Daniel is fond of this rule; it lets him keep his precious secret.

The second rule is that It does not happen on Pete weekends. This is obvious, but he includes it anyway, because it is important to remember when he feels that need.

The third rule is that It is to stay separate from work. This rule was doomed from the start, as It arose over work-related events. Their recent tryst in his office is a blatant violation. Oh, well.

The fourth rule is a corollary to the first: tell no one. Though he sometimes thinks it would be easier to just get It out in the open, his rational side reminds him of all the reasons that would be a Very Bad Idea. See: previous lists.

The fifth rule is that there are no expectations. It happens when It happens, and It has nothing to do with and no effect on everything outside of It.

The irony of a rule-breaking act having rules of its own is not lost to him.

*

He has always challenged her. In the beginning, it was to be more than a soldier, more than a scientist, to see beyond the tangible and to keep up with a rapid train of thought.

These days, it's rather kinkier.

It's not about less conventional bedroom practices; it's a challenge to push the rules of what is acceptable in a not-quite-relationship. Things such as dangerous places to have sex.

The office bout certainly pushed that boundary. Sam can only wonder how much farther they'll be able to push before something breaks.

*

Mornings after, particularly first mornings after, should be awkward. They should come to work and not be able to meet each other's eyes, and feel like they're wearing neon signs that say, "I got laid last night and you didn't!" Or perhaps, "I had mad monkey sex with my friend and teammate who happens to have a boyfriend who isn't me!"

They don't, though. Not Sam and him. It's like any other day, where they smile, and attend briefings, and pop into each other's offices to check something, and eat lunch with Jack and Teal'c, as the base picks itself back up and goes to work again after its loss.

He guesses it's because they both know why it happened, and they know the other knows. And it is because of this total ease with one another that It, the unofficially titled It, continues undiscussed.

*

It happens again when news of another Tok'ra loss arrives, lacking in detail other than that there were deaths. Their eyes meet after the debriefing, and she shows up at his house that evening.

They don't always have sex. At least, not at first. They still talk things out, like they used to. There's just an added element at the end, or the beginning, or the middle. Or all of the above.

Sam wonders if it's the remnants of Jolinar, or perhaps something leftover from Nirti, or any number of bizarre things that have happened to her consciousness since she first stepped through the 'gate – she wonders if these events have changed her, because she does not find the situation odd. It just is. She easily turns down Agent Barrett's offer, but knocks on Daniel's hotel room that very night.

The next months are, relatively speaking, uneventful at work. But somehow, the casual, comfort fuck (she really needs a name for it) becomes…more.

*

Daniel doesn't like to approach her, not at first. He guards his secret closely, and it is easier to maintain the mask that way.

Until the anniversary. His and Sha're's.

For all intents and purposes, descended Daniel is over his wife's death. How could he be otherwise, after his amnesia-induced realization? He left the withdrawn, lost, mourning version of himself behind with his former body. And he feels no remorse for it.

But there are days…

It hits him by force, and it's too much to handle on his own, and even though it's the middle of the night, he throws on a shirt and drives over to Sam's place. When he knocks on her door, she answers as if she had known all along that he would be there.

They don't say a word.

*

The strangest part is how eager she still is to see Pete. Her teammates – all of them – tease her mercilessly when they know it's been a Pete weekend. Not that she minds, really. Sure, she tells them to knock it off, but after so long together, they know she isn't serious.

She still feels the same giddiness when he calls, and she enjoys that she gets to dress up and do all sorts of girly things when she's with him. With Daniel, it's a come-as-you-are affair.

Affair.

That's still not the right word.

Her relationship with Pete, and her…whatever…with Daniel are so different in nature and situation that she cannot, she tells herself, reasonably hope to compare them. It's like having separate lives, day and night (though she certainly sees Pete when it's dark, and there have been memorable times during the day with Daniel). But of course, she's accustomed to leading separate, secret lives.

She wishes the rules didn't keep them from discussing the situation. Daniel would have the perfect name for it.

*

They're at it again.

Not Daniel and Sam. Daniel and Jack.

Not like _that_.

They are in _General_ O'Neill's office (Daniel still expects to see Hammond's shiny head every time he walks in there). Jack is behind his desk, leaning back in the chair, twisting it ever so slightly from side to side. Feigned casualty overlaying piercing determination on his face. Daniel sits in the opposite chair, also relaxed, twiddling a pen. Trademark enigmatic, vaguely contemplative yet super-aware look on his.

It's a game of chicken.

Jack finally breaks. "All right, Daniel. We both know why we're here."

"We do." Doubtful question.

"We do." Decisive certainty.

"We…do."

"We. Do."

"We-"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud. Cut the clueless act, Daniel, you're too old for it."

"Am I?"

"You-" Jack starts to answer, then catches himself and glares at his companion.

Daniel is having far too much fun with this game, but he remembers that Jack spent the morning choosing new floral arrangements for the VIP rooms and takes pity on him. "Really, Jack, I have no idea what you're talking about. Unless it's the Nebuchadnezzar report, but I thought I'd made it clear we were following a dead end there…" He could go on, but he leaves an opening.

"No, this has nothing to do with Nebbie, or work at all. It's _you_, Daniel."

Daniel blinks. "Me."

"Yes, you. And this whole…" Jack sits up and waves his hand vaguely, "…_thing_ you've been doing lately."

"You lost me." And he did.

"Daniel…you were _whistling_ in the commissary this morning."

Oh god. "I'm sorry, is there some regulation against that?" He hopes the poker face is intact.

"It's not just that, though I should warn you, there are a few very large SFs who prefer to eat their breakfasts in silence. For the past who knows how long, you have been positively…giddy."

Daniel cannot believe Jack just said giddy. Blinks again.

"Cheerful. Bouncy. Animated, bubbly, effervescent. Hell, call it whatever you want, but ever since Thor thawed me out, I have noticed a certain, shall we say, spring in your step."

Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod. Sam is going to kill him.

Jack leans forward, placing his hands squarely on his desk. "Now look me in the eye, Daniel, and tell me the truth."

Daniel gulps and meets his CO's eyes.

"Are you getting laid?"

His bluntness takes Daniel by surprise; he coughs, wishing he had a cup of coffee to use as an excuse.

Jack takes that for an answer, smirking and leaning back once more. "Uh-huh. It's about damn time. Don't even try to deny it; you know you can't keep anything from me. Who is she, a teacher? Librarian? Damsel formerly in distress?" Daniel says nothing. "Fine, have your little secret. But bring her over for a beer sometime." Satisfied, Jack lets him escape.

Not realizing that Daniel still keeps the biggest secret of them all.

*

She corners him as he comes out of General O'Neill's office. "Everything all right?"

"Um, yeah, just Jack being…Jack."

She wonders, but does not press. "I was just on my way to see you with the results of the mineral analysis on that tombstone."

He takes the proffered folder eagerly. "Thanks, I was wondering about that." Scanning the first page, he continues, "So, got any big weekend plans? I want to check out that new independent movie theatre and thought you might like to-"

She stops him with a shake of the head. "Sorry, Daniel, I can't. Pete just called; his case finished, so he's coming for a few days."

"Oh."

"Yeah, it's kind of weird, actually. He sounded pretty determined."

"Hard week? Needs comforting?" He doesn't look up from the first page.

"Comfort. Yeah."

He finally looks up; they stand silent.

"Well, enjoy," he quips at last, turning to leave.

"Thanks, will do." And she will, because it is, after all, Pete. Her boyfriend. Whom she…

*

Somehow, he manages not to either crash into any solid objects on his way back or slam his office door. He blames Jack, Sam, himself - and he'd like to find a way to blame Teal'c, for good measure - for his nearly breaking a cardinal Rule of It.

And for the first time, Daniel really starts to worry. And to check himself.

The line between taste and craving is thin, and, once crossed, not easily retraced.

The valiant never taste but once.

**Author's Note:**

> Quote attributions: Madonna – "Beautiful Stranger"; Shakespeare – _Julius Caesar_ "The valiant never taste of death but once."
> 
> Although this fic originally stood alone, I eventually wrote a [sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/49230). "Taste" still stands as a complete work if you prefer.


End file.
